


Glow Up

by BoStarsky



Series: Assorted Kylux [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bearded Hux, Crylo Ren, Hux is a Dick, Hux is a pro at unlocking doors, Hux may or may not have killed someone, I’ve done my best, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo definitely has, Kylo gets laid for the first time, Kylo is a fashion disaster, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Tailor AU, Tattoos, again with the crying, also drunk, and being passive agressive in Gaelic, awkward virgin Kylo, bottom kylo, mentioned stormpilot, porn written by an ace, tailor porn, they both suck at emotions, unhealthy amounts of coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 11:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoStarsky/pseuds/BoStarsky
Summary: When his cousin decides to get married it leaves Kylo With the unfortunate need for a suit and of course she has to foist him onto Hux, the uptight tailor across from them in the mall. It would be fine if Kylo hadn't been lusting after the man for two years, God help him.





	Glow Up

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another AU nobody asked for that someone hopefully wants. This entire thing was supposed to be short and dirty, but at some point it grew legs and ran, so here we are. Find me on tumblr at BoStarsky.

Rey is getting married, he can’t fucking believe it. Rey, his baby cousin who’s nearly a decade younger than him is getting hitched before he’s managed to ditch his own virginity. He’s never felt like such a failure of a human being before. At twenty one all he’d manage to accomplish was failing college and keeping a plant alive for longer than a week. He’s turning thirty next year and out of the ten goldfish he’s had, three died from neglect and one from over feeding. How the fuck is he ever supposed to compare to Rey now? The family failure reigns on. Someone has to do it, he supposes, but it would be nice if he ever got to pass the baton on to some other loser. Now, that’s looking less and less likely. For every point he gains, Rey gets five. Every time he does something noteworthy Leia counters with his fucking Harley, as if Han didn’t ride a motorcycle when they met. And whenever he fucks up, they never let him forget. 

He’s happy for his cousin. Truly. She’s lucky to have found Phasma. But their relationship is a constant reminder of the expectations Kylo has failed to live up to. It wouldn’t be half the problem it is if they didn’t all work in uncle Lando’s comic book shop where he has to see them nearly every day. The fact that they’re so overly affectionate is just rubbing the salt in, he would complain about it if he didn’t have a healthy fear of them both. 

And now he needs a suit, he’s never bought a suit or owned one since he was twelve when Leia used to make him attend parties. He hated every single one of them because even at that age he was well aware that he was a trophy to be shown off, proof of Leia’s maternal side. He raised as much hell as he could, just to anger her. Everything from knocking over waiters to setting the table cloth on fire that one time. It had been the last straw, he hasn’t been to one of her parties since. He needs a fucking suit. 

What is he even supposed to wear to a lesbian wedding? Black tie? Maybe he could get away with his least worn pair of pants and most decent shirt. As if sensing nefarious plans Rey sidles up to him with today’s new issues, needing his height to reach the top shelves, Phasma has the day off. He should have just stayed in bed. 

Dealing with customers is not his strongest quality, it’s even worse when he’s in a mood, the smile he forces looks painful to even the most sheltered geek finally emerged from their grandma’s basement. Can he even afford a suit? Doubtful. His forced smile vanishes quickly once he starts thinking about his bank balance. The customer is driven away by his furious scowl, looking at him like he just murdered someone in plain view. If Lando wasn’t eerily proficient at detecting bullshit he might fake a cold just so he can jump off the nearest bridge. 

While he’s seriously considering having a go Hux walks in, no, saunters, looking like he owns the world. He’s dressed in a navy three piece that does absolutely nothing to conceal his lithe body, hair moussed and beard trimmed to perfection. Kylo sometimes wonders if he’s real and not a figment of his hormonal brain, a perfect specimen to serve as a flashing reminder that his dick is lonely. 

He barely throws a glance at Kylo where he’s glaring a hole through the fabric of reality where a customer used to stand. Rey shouts a cheery greeting as he passes by, slipping through the beaded curtain to the back room where he can microwave and eat his fancy, packed lunch in peace. Some days he might be persuaded to share, but it’s always the healthy stuff you see on Pinterest, full of kale and brown rice, nothing even resembling actual flavour. Kylo just likes how accomplished it makes him feel when he can wheedle a sliver of chicken out of Hux’s manicured grasp. Like a dog begging for scraps. He suspects Hux does it out of pity or to make him shut up. 

Annoying Hux into giving him food is less appealing today, if thinking about his money, or lack thereof, is enough to send customers running he’s certain an interaction with Hux will lead to an actual, physical hole in the wall. His perfectly tailored suit and obviously expensive watch an added bonus to his rage. 

But it’s not like he can stay out here scaring away the business either. He could pretend to take stock even though he already has. If he has to be in the same room as Hux he can’t look at him, lest he add uncomfortable hard on to his growing list of problems. He’ll just have to deal with the inevitable insults about his clothes while Hux eats his bland lunch. 

In hindsight, drinking two cups of coffee while pretending to do his job probably wasn’t his best idea. If his social skills are terrible when he’s in a good mood they’re downright atrocious when he’s pissed off and effectively replacing his blood with caffeine. At least Hux seems to sense his bad mood and keeps any comments about Kylo’s worn boots, that he’s been wearing everyday since he got out of prison, to himself. His silence doesn’t make Kylo any less aware of his presence though, a gust of expensive cologne sweeping his way every time the fan judders it’s meek breeze past Hux. 

At some point he gives up on his pretense, slumping into the second chair at the table when he realises there are only so many times he can inventory a single box before becoming obvious anyway. In this position the only way to avoid looking at Hux is by hiding his face in his arms. It’s childish, he knows, but he really doesn’t have the patience and brain power to fumble his way through a conversation. He doubts their guest is so inclined as well since Phasma isn’t here, the tall blonde being the only person he’s ever seen Hux smile at. He spent two weeks jerking off more than what’s probably good for him in an effort to avoid getting an erection whenever he saw a glimpse of red hair. If Hux by some miracle smiled at Kylo he’d probably come in his pants. 

He’s gotten so good at ignoring his surroundings he barely notices when Hux leaves, retreating back to the microwave less First Order Fashion across from them in the mall. Another cup of coffee sounds nice, racking today’s total up to six. Faint traces of cologne still linger in the air, Kylo purges his brain with the strongest cup of brew he can force out of their malfunctioning coffee maker. 

From wedding invite to now he can with certainty say his life is in shambles. It’s been upgraded from disorganised to straight up mess in the span of about eight hours and he still needs a fucking suit.

He’ll have to scour every thrift store in the city, hoping and praying that he’ll find something that’ll fit his ginormous frame well enough to let him slide. Hopefully whatever he ends up with won’t ruin his cousin’s wedding by being an eyesore. At least no more than usual. Leia would pay for a suit if he asked, he’s sure, but his pride is keeping him from taking that route. So long as he’s decent for the minimum amount of time he plans to attend he’ll consider it a success. And if he can annoy his mother by still being an unseemly party guest that’s all the better, he's started a trend she forced him into, maybe he’ll get drunk off his face for the first time. He somehow has to surpass the table cloth incident without ruining the whole event. Getting shit faced despite his anger management therapist warning him off that one drink too many could cause a disaster of epic proportions. 

Disappointingly enough Leia seems to have beat him to the punch, finally having learned her lesson, because while he was brooding Rey set up an appointment with Hux. Now he has to go into First Order Fashion, which is so far out of his price range he can’t even see it, much less afford anything more than a single sock, and get manhandled by Hux with a measuring tape for half an hour. Thirty long minutes of torture during which he will inevitably embarrass himself with an inappropriate erection, unless he blows the second Hux even breathes in his direction. He can’t do it. He’ll have to come up with a way out, anything.

This is something he simply can’t let happen. It would be one thing if he didn't have to see Hux nearly every day. He’ll never be able to so much as look in his direction again if he goes through with this. He’d rather go back to prison. Maybe he could. Thing is, he only knows how to get there through gruesome accident and manslaughter, he's not sure he has the constitution to get arrested on purpose. What would he even do? Rob a bank to pay for the suit that’ll no doubt cost about as much a half a years salary? No, he'd never recover from that. Only reason he wasn't disowned for killing someone was because he didn't do it intentionally. It was still a close call. 

Still, if this keeps up he might have to kill Hux anyway. It would be a shame, but at least he’ll have a good suit for his trial if it comes to that.

The first thing he does when he gets home is pummel his punching bag, imagining a rotary of family members, until it rips, spilling a steady trickle of sand onto his carpet while a searches frantically for his duct tape. Emergency patch in place he feels a lot less like going back to prison, but having dealt with his anger he's left with anxiety about tomorrow’s appointment and thinking about how close he’ll be to Hux results in the hard on from hell. It’s an evil chain of events. He only hates himself a little when he jerks off in the shower thinking about red hair and well cut suits.

God give him strength. Please let him get through this without making too big a fool of himself. He's worn the tightest pair of briefs in his possession in an effort to restrain his opportunistic dick, but he doubts it’ll do much good.

In the two years he’s been working for Lando he has never set foot in any of the other shops at the mall. Never needed or wanted to. He’s been content to get his daily dose of scripted social interaction from the safety of the till. He has no idea how to behave or what to say outside of that little comfort zone. Prison doesn’t exactly help hone your communication skills, though he does know how to make murderers cry and keep from getting raped. How he managed to survive five years without becoming somebody's bitch is still slightly beyond him. 

It took him less than a week to become Hux’s bitch and he hasn’t even told the man yet. 

Setting foot inside First Order Fashion is like entering a different plane of reality. It’s the kind of twilight zone Leia would drag him to as a child where there doesn’t seem to be a speck of dust in existence. Elegantly posed mannequins line the windows, draped in expensive gowns and fine suits. The shameless display of wealth makes him uncomfortable and very aware of his own appearance, which is something that usually doesn’t bother him. At Millenium Comics he looks a little worse for wear, in here, he looks like he crawled out of the gutter, standing amongst polished wood and fine fabrics like a confused stray. 

“Can I help you?” The man who approaches him looks just as confused as Kylo feels. He’s infuriatingly perfect, standing there with his genuine smile. Thunderclouds loom ahead, he’s known this man for all of ten seconds and he’s already tired of him. 

“Uh...I’m supposed to see Hux.” Please let him have the right time, if he’s missed the appointment he’s not sure if he should be relieved or angry. 

“Oh yeah?” Kylo nods. If possible, the man’s smile becomes even brighter and he holds up a finger telling him to wait while sticking his head through a curtain. “Hey, Hugs! Your date is here!” Date? Who said anything about a date? Oh shit, isn’t he supposed to get a suit?

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Hux emerging does nothing to ease Kylo’s anxiety. This day really isn’t going well for him, burning blush spreading further when he sees Hux has removed his jacket, the waistcoat hugging his body perfectly. 

“Not until you loosen up, Hugs.” The glare Hux gives him would kill a normal person, but the man doesn’t seem bothered at all. 

“He’s here for a fitting,” the man finally reacts to something, eyebrows rising in disbelief. At least this Kylo can agree with. “Right this way, Ren. You’ll have to excuse Dameron, he’s American.” Hux holds back the curtain for him while he awkwardly shuffles past, trying to avoid physical contact at all cost. 

Customer service Hux is possibly scarier than lunch Hux. Nice is not a word he’d normally associate with the brit, but he’s being very hospitable, offering Kylo a cup of tea while directing him to the fitting room. He doesn’t really like tea, but he’s scared to say no. 

“Have you considered what kind of suit you’d like?” Kylo just shrugs, occupying his mouth with the too hot tea, at least the pain anchors him a little. “Have you ever owned a suit?” There’s a hint of normal Hux, he finds it strangely comforting. One familiar thing in this strange realm. 

“When I was twelve.” Hux looks very unimpressed, quickly realising there’s no direction to be found. Kylo trusts Hux to make good choices. Hopefully expensive ones since Leia is apparently paying for all of this. 

He takes a nervous sip of his tea feeling like he’s being flayed open by the green eyes that scan him from top to bottom. There’s no way he’ll survive this without getting an inappropriate erection. His baggiest hoodie along with his tight briefs are his only line of defence.

“Please take that thing off,” shit. “I need accurate measurements.” At this rate he really will have to plan a murder, either that or flee the country. 

Kylo drags the hoodie over his head and drops it in the corner before he has the time to overthink it any more than he already has. He feels naked without it, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest, the equally worn t-shirt underneath doing nothing to conceal him. 

Hux looks like he’s been slapped, mask slipping just a fraction before snapping back in place. “I did not see that coming.” He mutters before catching himself. 

Like an idiot, Kylo answers. “I had a lot of spare time in prison.” He can instantly tell it’s the wrong thing to say, ears burning, he forces his mouth shut, lips pressed into a thin line. Hux graciously ignores him choosing instead to direct him in front of the mirror. 

The first touch takes him by complete surprise, giving him no chance to suppress a shiver as the measuring tape is drawn across his shoulders. Fucking fuck, he can feel the warmth of Hux’s fingers through his shirt, little points of blazing heat where he holds the tape in place. It feels like hours, but in reality it’s only a few seconds before the touch retreats, moving on to his arm. 

He stares at his feet, listening to the scratch of a pen on paper, thinking that maybe this’ll be alright if Hux stays behind him the whole time. The thought has barely formed when Hux slips in front of him, quietly stating what he’s doing as he slips the cool tape around Kylo’s neck. All hope is lost when Hux leans in to measure his chest, a faint scratch of beard along his jaw, spicy cologne filling his lungs. He forgets to breathe, acutely aware of his cock showing it’s interest. 

All he can focus on is how nice Hux’s hair smells, how he’s close enough to smell it. Any dignity he has left won’t be leaving with him. There’s no way his growing erection will go unnoticed. Waist, hips, Hux says nothing, steadily measuring his legs, going down the long list until there’s only one measurement left. From this angle he can’t read what it is, but he has a horrible suspicion. There’s only one place left he could measure. He’ll have to say something, apologize, anything. 

What do you even say in a situation like this, how does he address the very obvious hard on straining against his fly? ‘I’m sorry, you’re just so hot I can’t help myself’ doesn't seem like a good option. He’s dying of mortification as the silence stretches on. “This is a first, I need it gone for this.” Hux stares at him expectantly, like he thinks Kylo can just will his erection away when he’s standing there like nothing is wrong, looking like something out of Kylo’s wildest fantasies. 

“Sorry, I…” He can’t even string together a sentence, so embarrassed he wants to cry. How can he explain that this is the most physical contact he’s had in years, that Hux is his idea of perfection, that he desperately wants to kiss him?

“It’s not for me, is it?” For the first time a hint of a smile is directed at him, just a little twitch of lips, it’s enough to draw a shaky nod out of him. “I’m flattered.” Fingers press at his fly, a surprised gasp slips out. What the hell is Hux doing?

A steady arm slips around Kylo’s waist to keep him in place while Hux palms his crotch. This can’t possibly be happening, but the deft fingers unbuttoning his jeans say otherwise. He whimpers when that impossible hand slips beneath the waistband of his briefs. Hux shushes him, a gentle reminder of where they are. He’s so close to coming already, all he needs is just a little more. 

Hux’s hand is so much better than his own, soft and smooth. A few firm strokes and he’s there, quickly burying his face in Hux’s shoulder to muffle his moans. He’s dizzy with bliss, trying and failing to gather himself. This can’t possibly be real, any minute now he’ll wake up in his own bed, come smeared on the sheets, but nothing changes while he comes back down, the shoulder supporting his head doesn't become replaced by a pillow. He can hardly wrap his head around the fact that Hux jerked him off. Does this count as sex?

Kylo never imagined sex would be this stressful, just the thought that he’ll have to walk out of here with come in his underwear is enough to bring back his blush. Hux appears indifferent to Kylo’s mounting anxiety, just tucks him back into his jeans like nothing happened, taking the last measurement and stepping away to note it down. He barely listens when Hux starts making suggestion on styles and fabric, just nods along not knowing what he’s agreeing to, Hux could make him a hot pink suit with green piping and he wouldn’t know until he sees it. He'd wear a fucking sunshine yellow tutu and spanks if hux gave it to him.

He leaves feeling more confused than when he arrived, acutely aware of the chafing he’ll have to suffer through for the rest of his shift. “Jesus, Hugs, what did you do to the poor guy?” Poe mutters right before Kylo stumbles out of the store probably looking like he's been molested.

“How did it go?” Rey is too damn happy for her own good, humming some top 40 song to Phasma as he stomps past on his way to the bathroom. “Kylo?” They follow him, Rey leaning against the bathroom door with a dramatic sigh when he slams it shut in her face.

“Did the awkward virgin cream his pants?” Phasma calls out, clearly intending it as a good natured ribbing, but it becomes deathly quiet when he doesn't quip back. “You did, didn’t you? I knew you fancied him, but that bad?” She sounds like she's just won the lottery in blackmail material, cackling away at his confused emotions while he’s trying to clean up.

“Oh, Kylo,” Rey being an “understanding cousin” is the last thing he wants right now. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, could happen to anyone.” The awkwardness in her tone is near palpable, horribly reminiscent of Han’s way too graphic talk when he was nine. In hindsight that talk may have been the catalyst to his sexuality and long lived virginity, he’d decided at that moment that he never wanted to have sex with a woman and since nobody deigned to tell him that men were an option until he was twenty he never bothered. Then he ran over a pedestrian because he spilled hot coffee on himself while arguing on the phone with Han before he ever got the chance to get laid.

“He jerked me off, okay!” Shit, he shouldn't have said that. Hux will kill him when he finds out. When, not if, Phasma will tell him, he knows she will, probably to fact check him. The mirror shatters satisfactorily, someone is shouting his name. He's picking out the bigger shards when the door crashes open, must have forgotten to lock it.

Blood drips from his hand onto the stained dishrag while he waits for Rey to return from the pharmacy. He’d rather be anywhere else in the world, but his cousin knows that if he went home he’d just wrap his hand in a towel and go to sleep because picking out the smaller shards is just too much work made more difficult by his big fingers. It’s starting to sting now that the anxiety and anger is fading. Clenching his hand causes more blood to well up, the little red streams warm on his skin, it’s almost hypnotic. 

There are voices drifting in from the shop, the click of expensive shoes on linoleum. Oh no. Phasma cackles some more, probably telling Hux all about Kylo’s minor meltdown. Groaning with defeat he lays his head down on the table, shielding his face from view with his uninjured arm. The beads rustle, announcing the arrival of his worst nightmare and wildest dream. 

“Jesus, Ren,” Hux’s cookie cutter accent slips in shock. “What did you do to your hand?” Probably more of a courtesy question than actual concern. 

“Didn’t like my own reflection.” He mumbles into the table, embarrassed that Hux is seeing him like this on top of the day’s events. The lines connecting the dots are more than clear enough. 

Hux heaves a heavy sigh, acting like Kylo bleeding is a major inconvenience. He listens to the sink running while hux roots around the single cabinet they have, if he’s looking for tea he won’t find it, he should know that by now. Slipping into the chair Rey dragged over he starts dabbing at Kylo’s hand like it’s something he does every day. 

“I should apologise for earlier, it was inappropriate of me.” Here it comes, the ‘I’m not interested in you like that’ speech. Now that Hux knows how fucked up he really is he won’t want anything to do with him. If shit like this keeps happening he’s never going to leave his apartment ever again. The curtain rustles before Hux can continue, Rey shouting a cheery greeting. “Give me that, you shine the light.” He says instead, effortlessly taking control of the situation. 

It’s not until he feels the sting of glass being picked out of his hand that he looks up. Hux’s fingers are gentle, but firm where he’s holding Kylo’s hand steady, brows furrowed in concentration, carefully removing tiny slivers of the mirror that would have otherwise been left in. He must have a keen eye for detail, how many suits and dresses has he made with those hands, he wonders. How many customers has he jerked off? A sudden blush rises to his cheeks, but thankfully Hux and Rey are too absorbed in their work to notice. Thank god Rey is there to act as a buffer and to distract him away from the intense focus Hux is putting on him. If he survives this day he’ll have to mark it down in his calendar.

He decides it’s best to keep his mouth shut when Rey gets called away, taking over the job of lighting and trying to look anywhere, but at Hux. “Let me make it up to you, buy you a cup of coffee.” Kylo flinches when Hux speaks, cutting through the silence like a sharp knife.

“Why?” He doesn't want a consolation prize for what happened, he’d rather just get a scathing review, Hux style, and be done with it. Hux pretending to be nice is the last thing he wants, if he's mean Kylo can at least try to move on from it, though he doubts he will.

“Because you said my name,” He was expecting some forced excuse, not that. He can’t remember doing it, but there's no doubt what Hux is referring to, whispering it like a little secret, a hint of smile tugging at his lips. Kylo’s cock stirs in interest, Hux should smile more often, even if he'd eventually pass out from lack of blood flow to his brain, the world deserves to see something that beautiful. At the same time he wants to keep it to himself, lock it away in his memories and never share it with anyone.

“You don't have to do this.” He stutters, trying to navigate the conversation back into a safe area, somewhere he won’t have to carefully plan each word.

“I want to.” Hux ties off the gauze he’s been wrapping around Kylo’s hand, chucking the bloody dishrag and the remnants of the mirror in the trash.

Hux wants to? It’s not something he ever expected to happen, Hux wanting to spend time together with him, he's still not entirely sure he believes it. Why would the embodiment of perfection want to spend time with a living failure, it’s not like he has anything to give in return. What would they even talk about? Kylo doesn't have a single thing worth telling, just a lonely childhood and a criminal record that drives people away. There's no way he could be of any interest to someone like Hux.

The panic rising inside him must be more obvious than he thought for Hux smiles at him again, grabbing his wrapped hand and leaning in close enough that Kylo can feel his hot breath ghosting over his skin. “I’m Irish,” Gone is the sharp accent a warming lilt taking its place. “Now you know something about me that no one else does.” Up until now Kylo didn’t think Hux could possibly become any hotter, just imagining the things he could whisper in Kylo’s ear with that accent is enough to have him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

If Hux notices, he doesn't mention it just stands back up looking smug while he offers his hand. It’s nearly dwarfed by Kylo’s huge paw and it’s all he can focus on as he's lead out of the shop like a dog on a leash. He vaguely registers Phasma wolf whistling. Hux is holding his hand in public. Hux is holding his hand in public. Hux! Is holding his hand! In public! The world has gone mad. The entire situation is making him doubt his sanity again. There's no way this is real, it has to be a dream, no matter how crazy. 

Deep down he knows it isn't. If it was a dream he wouldn't have felt pain, there wouldn't still be a dull throbbing in his hand. The hand Hux is holding. He can’t help smiling like a fool. What a pair they make, a shabby sasquatch and the hero of a Jane Austen novel.

There's a line at the starbucks, it’s probably minutes, but it feels like seconds to Kylo before they're at the counter and the tired barista is staring at them expectantly. Hux is disappointingly predictable with his order of tea, what he didn't see coming was the M&M cookie big enough to feed a small nation. He’s so distracted by this new info Hux has to tug on his arm to get his attention, asking what he wants. Not really thinking about the fact that he should probably order something more “acceptable” he rattles of his usual order of a Blonde Roast Venti much to the horror of the barista.

Waiting for their drinks goes equally fast as he’s preoccupied with staring, absorbing every little detail now that he’s technically allowed to look. Constantly learning new things that he never spotted when creeping behind the shelves, like he knew Hux had green eyes, but he’d never seen all the nuances and flecks of blue, the very beginnings of crows feet. All those salads must be for show, the cookie vanishing in the five minutes it takes for their drinks to be made, all that’s left a few crumbs caught in his beard. So many new doors are being opened. Does Phasma know any of these things?

“Ren?”

“Huh?” He snaps out of his thoughts. Has Hux been talking this whole time? 

“Why did the barista look at you as if you’d gone insane when you ordered this?” He gestures carefully with Kylo’s coffee, politely stepping back from the pick up counter. 

“Try it.” And he does, takes a careful sip of the steaming cup. Eyes going wide, he looks as if he’s found a new level of respect for Kylo and at the same time an understanding with the barista. 

“How are you not dead?” The coffee gets pushed into Kylo’s hand, Hux still making faces at the inhumanly strong brew. He can’t help, but laugh, making a weak attempt at hiding his smile behind the rim of his cup. 

“Honestly not sure.” By the time he’s gathered himself Hux has turned to the condiments heaping an unhealthy amount of sugar into his tea, when Kylo raises a questioning brow he only gets a withering look in return, daring him to say something. 

They wedge themselves into a corner, quickly occupying the one free table left. Is this a date? Should he be flirting or apologising for his lack of self control and over excited libido? Trying to occupy himself he takes a long drink of the slightly too hot coffee, all too aware of the fact that Hux’s mouth has been on the rim of his cup. 

“I killed someone,” Hux chokes on his tea. “Accidentally.” He quickly amends, trying to reign in some of the damage he’s already done. “In case you wanted to know why I was in prison.” It’s not exactly a light topic of conversation, but he knows it’s a dealbreaker. If Hux is going to leave him for it, he’d rather get it out of the way. 

“You’re just full of surprises today.” Ok, not bad, at least he’s not making a hasty retreat. 

“It’s just, people usually want to know.” His stint in prison is no secret, numerous articles and news reports floating around on the internet. Kylo tries to ignore them, but it’s difficult when he sometimes get strangers asking if it really was an accident. Hiding behind a new name did little good, senator Organa being a big enough name to draw media attention regardless. 

“Well, we all have our pasts.” And that’s the end of that conversation, a clever glint shining in Hux’s eyes. Kylo feels like he’s missed something. 

—

It’s been a week, no mention has been made of the fitting. He’s seen Hux almost every day, the only change in behaviour an occasional smile that never fails to leave him hot under the collar. How he hasn’t pulled his fucking dick off from how much he’s been jacking it recently is a mystery to him. He’s never had such good jerking material before. Now that he’s had a taste of the real thing he’s become insatiable, haunted by the memory of Hux’s hand on his dick, the smell of his hair. If he thought he had it bad before it’s nothing compared to now. Even the memory of holding hands is enough to turn him on, it’s worse than puberty at this point. 

He wants more, desperately. Wants to hold hands, make out, fuck or be fucked. The technicalities don't matter he feels like he's dying of thirst and Hux is the tall glass of water that’ll cure all that ails him. He’s so fucking horny he doesn't even have the words for it. His shower wall is starting to look like a Jackson Pollock painting. Something needs to happen before lube has to be added into his bi weekly budget, but he's not sure how to approach the situation without getting his ass kicked. How do you tell someone you’ve been mastrubating several times a day while thinking about them?

To think this all could have been avoided if he'd just stayed in bed.

\--

Two weeks since the incident Hux walks in, but instead of vanishing into the back he approaches Kylo, acting like nothing has ever happened between them. He looks perfect as always, today’s suit a dark, iridescent, purple. It’s interesting and not something he ever though Hux would wear, he's breathtaking, shimmering under the cheap fluorescents like a gaelic deity. Kylo is immediately suspicious when Hux slips behind the counter to grab his hand.

He says something to Rey, hopefully nothing important before leading Kylo away. He’s so focused on Hux’s hand he could have walked right into oncoming traffic and not noticed it, just as soft and warm as he remembered it. A blush immediately rises when he's lead into THE fitting room.

A grey suit hangs by the mirror, not quite finished by the look of it. It takes him a while to realise that’s his suit, the one that Hux has made for him.

“Try it on,” He's handed a white shirt, a tag with his name on it pinned to the bottom. “I need to make adjustments.” Shouldn’t Hux leave the room while he changes? The expectant look on his face says he won’t. Shit. It’s not like he can turn his back, it would be pointless, the three full length mirrors not very conductive to hiding.

Resigning himself to his fate he yanks off his hoodie, cursing himself for not wearing an undershirt today. Kylo feels incredibly naked, Hux making no effort to avert his eyes, staring openly at his bare chest, at his piercings and tattoos. He covers himself with the shirt as fast as humanly possible, fumbling with the buttons until his hands get pushed away, Hux deftly buttoning him up to the neck before gently tugging the material around. 

To kylo it seems like an unnecessary amount of touching, Hux laying his palms flat across his chest, slowly dragging them down to his waist. His libido wants him to believe he’s being felt up, his logic says no. Hux wouldn’t do that, would he? Probably gave him that hand job out of pity only to find out Kylo has a massive crush on him. 

“Trousers next.” 

“What?” Hux can't seriously be expecting him to take his pants off in front of him. He’s already half hard simply from being this close to the man, if he takes his pants off there’s nothing left to hide behind. 

“These,” Hux tugs at a belt loop, dangerously close to his crotch. “Off.” 

Mercifully Hux turns his back while he stumbles out of his boots and shucks his jeans, stripping the suit from its hanger and handing over the pants. He’s quick to pull them on, carelessly tucking in his shirt. Going by the last time, Hux probably won’t mention his obvious chubby, doesn’t make it any less embarrassing, but at least he won’t have to acknowledge it. 

He can tell it’s a good fit the second the jacket goes on, even if it’s still missing an arm and covered in various chalk marks. He’s so used to wearing clothes that are too big to accommodate his height it’s like seeing another person in the mirror. With Hux’s help he’ll shock the entire wedding party, maybe it’ll help him get out from his mother’s shadow, that is, until he does something phenomenally stupid at the reception. With his poorly developed social skills it’s inevitable. 

Hux is flitting around with his measuring tape, taking notes and mumbling to himself, generous with his touches. He seems to be everywhere at once, firm fingers and spicy cologne, Kylo’s hopes of remaining at half mast shattered. Maybe Hux will get him off again. 

Done with the jacket, Hux kneels in front of him effectively conjuring up an obscene amount of images that he’d really rather not have right now. Like last time, he ignores Kylo’s cock and goes about his job, making minute adjustments here and there.

An eternity passes while he watches Hux work, trying to curb any reaction at his touch. Just when Kylo thinks it’s over, the little notebook gone into Hux’s breast pocket, measuring tape slung around his neck, a predatory smirk appears. Green eyes locking onto his with an intense, unwavering stare. Quick fingers unbutton his pants, a rush of excitement hits him. No way. He expected a hand job, if anything. Not this. But there go his pants down around his ankles, quickly followed by his briefs. 

Again Hux takes him by surprise when instead of being ruthlessly efficient he nuzzles into the crease of his crotch, his beard creating the most delicious little tingles. He takes his time, teasing Kylo with soft touches and little puffs of air, keeping him close, but not letting him come. It’s the sweetest torture. 

Finally taking mercy on him Hux closes his lips around the swollen head. The sudden, wet heat around his cock draws a startled moan from him when he forgets to be quiet. He receives a pinch to his ass as a small reminder. 

It’s over embarrassingly quick once Hux starts sucking, barely a minute in and he’s seeing stars, biting his fist to muffle himself. Watching Hux swallowing around his cock is possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He’s already dreaming of what might happen when his suit is done before Hux has even tucked him back into his underwear, eager for something that might never come to be. 

Hux continues to surprise him when he stands up, winds his hands through Kylo’s hair and kisses him like it’s no big deal. In fairness, Hux might not realise that he’s never been kissed before either. He’s out of his depth here, his only point of reference what he’s seen in movies and on tv.

Though he fumbles a bit, feeling ridiculous standing there in a half finished suit, pants around his ankles, he’d say it goes fairly well. Hux doesn’t push for more, keeps it gentle and uncomplicated, guiding him with unfairly soft lips. He tastes amazing, like sweet tea, the remnants of Kylo clinging to his tongue, which isn’t half as disgusting has he thought it would be. 

His waist feels tiny under Kylo’s hands, he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch, that he can wrap his arms around Hux without risk of getting punched. The fact that he’s been missing out on stuff like this his whole life doesn’t really bother him anymore, not when he gets to have this moment. 

By the time the kiss breaks he’s feeling a little dazed. Holy shit. He’s pretty sure Hux has ruined him for anyone else, this is likely to be his one and only sexual experience, he’s not stupid enough to believe he’ll ever manage to fumble himself into someone else’s bed. Even if he by some miracle does, there's no way they can compare to this.

Once more Kylo leaves feeling confused, he’s under no illusion that he looks anything other than straight up wrecked. Again Dameron is slightly too quick to throw out a comment, maybe he's doing it on purpose. “Your breath smells like dick.” Kylo hurries his step not wanting to be nearby when Hux inevitably tears him a new one. The last thing he hears before the noise of the mall drowns it out is a sharp yelp, he remembers the line of pins on Hux’s lapel and smiles to himself.

Rey looks like she's not sure if she should be happy to see him smile or if she should call someone in possession of a straight jacket, but he must look serene enough for her to settle on the former. She smiles too, beaming across the floor from where she was tidying the shelves, dropping her work to intercept him, following him to the bathroom in imitation of last time. This time he has no intention of breaking the mirror, or himself, Lando would probably fire him if he did. One of the conditions of letting him work here was that he had to reign in his temper and sign up for anger management. He did, it helped some, but he still loses his temper more often and explosively than he should.

“So…” She leans against the door frame, watching him fix his hair with a knowing little grin. It’s a rare occurrence when he can actually see where the conversation is going and it’s not a conversation he wants to have with his baby cousin who might as well still be tottering around in diapers. He’s not prepared for that level of humiliation and corruption, even though Rey is way more experienced than him in that area and could probably give him some tips.

“Oh, come on, Kylo,” She wheedles, “Did he?” She makes a rude gesture while giving him a squinty smile. He shuffles awkwardly, trying to look anywhere, but at Rey. Unfortunately she can read him quite well and giggles like a gossiping teenager when he tries very hard to ignore her.

For the first time in his life he's happy to hear the bell on the counter jingle, a sense of relief washing over him. “You got lucky this time, Solo.” He flinches at the use of that name, she doesn't notice, the beads rattling when she passes through.

His reflection is a fucking mess. His hair, the one part of his appearance he actually cares about, is sticking out at odd angles, long fingers pulling it into disarray. He’s still a little flushed, lips red from being kissed, the memory of Hux still fresh on his tongue. How do people do this everyday and still look put together? All Hux has to do is touch him and he looks like he's having a heart attack. He’s never been more aware of his inexperience.

He manages to tame his hair by the time the familiar sound of expensive shoes on worn linoleum reaches his ears quickly followed by Hux appearing in the doorway looking like he didn't just suck Kylo’s cock. A smug smirk spreads on his face, he looks like a clever fox, pleased with the mess he’s made of Kylo. 

This time it’s a slice of cheesecake that gets demolished. Kylo is starting to see a pattern. He’s unsure whether Hux actually likes him or if he pities him, buying him coffee as a consolation prize. Sorry I got you off, have some coffee. 

Once the cake is gone, there’s no more excuses to not talk. “What the actual fuck is going on?” He’d meant to be more polite, but the filter between his brain and mouth has never worked quite like it should. Hux blushes, Hux actually fucking blushes, pale cheeks taking on a rosy tint. Apparently he wasn’t expecting Kylo to confront him about this thing between them. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not very good at these things,” The thought had never crossed his mind, that maybe he’s not the only one struggling with communication. Hux always seems so confident and comfortable in his skin, sharp tongue never stumbling over words. “I like you, Kylo.” The phrasing is juvenile, but it gets the point across. 

As shocked as he is, those few words are making him giddy, playing on repeat in his mind while Hux shreds a napkin. Hux likes him, Kylo likes Hux, he should ask him out on a real date. Where would he take him? Hux would probably expect a fancy restaurant with white tablecloths and silver cutlery. He could never afford that, his budget barely having room for dinner at a mediocre steakhouse. He doesn’t even have a car he could pick Hux up in, he doubts he’d get someone like the posh Irishman to ride bitch on his Harley. Technically he’s not even allowed to drive a car anymore, he didn’t see the point of renewing his license when getting behind the wheel of a car gives him instant anxiety. He won’t even have something nice to wear until his suit is finished.

The wedding. He has a plus one. No one would expect him to use it. It’s a cheap date, not really something you’d invite the guy who got you off a few times to. Still, there’s a month left. An entire month they can spend getting to know each other and, hopefully, having sex. 

“Come with me to the wedding,” He blurts out before he can lose his bravado. Hux’s head snaps up, a few copper strands slipping loose from the abrupt movement. “As my plus one.” Holy shit, he’s never asked anyone out before. Please say yes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I don’t want to go alone, I don't know anyone else to ask.” He realises a little too late what that sounds like but, Hux seems to understand, reaching across the table to grab Kylo’s hand dragging his thumb over the knuckles he bandaged two weeks ago.

“I’d love to go,” Kylo turns his hand, twining their fingers together. “We can make fun of the other guests together.” For a brief second a menacing look passes over Hux’s eyes, a hairline fracture in his structured facade. He reminds Kylo of some of the more dangerous inmates on his block, this is not a man you want to piss off. Just like that it’s gone, the dark clouds drifting past. He can already tell this’ll be the first formal party he’ll actually enjoy, Hux has a sharp tongue that's good fun when it’s not aimed at you. Maybe he can convince him to tear into Leia.

The effects of the caffeine must be catching up to him, must be why his heart is racing. He knows it’s a lie, he drinks more coffee than what’s good for him on a daily basis. His heart is racing because of Hux, like it always is. He’s got a date with Hux. An actual, proper date with an Irish god.

“Where do you go?” Hux interrupts his train of thought looking amused. “Sometimes you just disappear.” He explains while gesturing at Kylo’s face.

“Oh, uh, woolgathering, I guess.” It’s something he's always done, latching onto a thought and spacing out, he used to be embarrassed about it until he realised it’s not really something he can control.

“You do it around me a lot.” Hux notes. No one has called him out on it since high school, usually he's just left alone until he snaps out of it, but Hux, unlike most people, isn’t scared to interrupt.

“You require a lot of thinking.” He admits sheepishly.

“Is that so?” Hux takes a long sip from his tea, studying Kylo over the rim of his cup. Kylo wriggles uncomfortably in his seat under the heavy gaze, face heating up at the implication in Hux’s words and what he's just accidentally admitted to. Logically he shouldn’t be embarrassed, not after what Hux has done to him, but despite his oversharing father, or perhaps, because of his oversharing father its become somewhat of a taboo subject for him. Along with The Talk and Han asking him one time too many if he needed any dirty magazines, it’s left him terribly shy and ashamed to talk about sex. Hux doesn't seem to have any reservations, easily going from polished gentleman to apparent pornstar.

This time Hux kisses him when they part between the two contrasting shops, quick and professional, but it still makes Kylo weak in the knees. If this thing between them continues he’ll have to use up his remaining vacation days and spend them all kissing Hux just to regain a modicum of self control. 

\--

Kylo expects Hux to return to normal while he finishes the suit, but is pleasantly surprised when the uptight ginger greets him with a kiss and shares his lunch every day. It warms his heart when he starts bringing extra food that he knows Kylo likes through trial and error, and coffee from the Starbucks every day. Rey good heartedly jokes about it, Phasma not so much. It’s like being back at school as she breaks out in an off pitch rendition of the kissing song whenever she sees them together before cackling and taking her leave. He’s not too offended by it, he knows that's just how phasma is and getting mad about it won’t help. The woman has no shame and only listens to her fiancée, and Hux, on occasion. Besides, the rare congratulations on getting a sugar daddy, no matter how crude, make up for it. 

Hux refuses to give any updates on the suit, claiming the finished product to be a surprise even though he's already seen it. A lot can happen in two weeks, but he doubts Hux has made him an entirely new suit, a secret suit. Never in his life has he been so excited for clothes, except, maybe, when he finally got to wear normal pants after five years of striped onesies. It might be that he’s more excited about what might happen this time than the suit itself, if Hux will give him a chance to reciprocate or if he’ll get told to fuck off.

He wants to, madly. Wants to peel off that perfect suit and worship every inch of skin, find every spot and blemish, see if he's hiding any embarrassing tattoos or if he has any scars. Wants to pick him apart until he’s shaking with pleasure, left boneless and sated. With his level of experience that’s unlikely, but he’d like to try, learn how to please Hux.

Google is his friend in these situations, he spends hours reading gay sex how tos and choking on bananas. It doesn’t really improve him much, but at least he has a vague idea of what to do now and hopefully won’t choke on Hux’s dick, if he even gets that far. Half the stuff he’s unearthed from the internet doesn't even seem possible, much less sanitary, the other half makes it seem unfairly easy when he knows it’s not that simple. He’ll probably fuck it up like he does everything else, he can only hope Hux will be patient with him.

Despite hours of googling he doesn't feel prepared in any way and is possibly the most nervous he's ever been when he goes in for the final fitting. It’s raining and he feels like a drowned rat plodding through the shoppers that are avoiding the weather, people make a path for him as always, desperate to avoid the criminal. He knows what he looks like, people find him threatening in ratty jeans and old hoodies, even more so dressed in his leathers that he couldn't be bothered to strip outside.

Hux is on the floor talking to a customer when Kylo arrives, sparing him a glance and a quick smile. He waits over by the tie display, trying to look inconspicuous and probably failing, dripping water all over the floor. Poe, who’s fiddling with the shirts smiles at him, waving him over as if they're old friends. He's not really sure what to do in this situation, but he figures he’ll be less noticeable if he's next to a staff member so he lumbers over trying his hardest not to brush up against anything.

“Final fitting, huh?” Kylo just nods in reply, not wanting to put his foot in his mouth. “First custom suit, right?” He nods again, grunting in the affirmative. “Hux is really good at his job, he did me a solid for my friend’s wedding a few years back. Best suit I’ve ever had. You getting married?” Poe is just trying to be friendly, he knows that, but he can’t help hating him a little for putting him in a corner when he has to speak.

“No, my cousin, Rey.” He keeps his words clipped in hopes that Poe might take the hint. No such luck, the man slipping into a spiel about how much he loves weddings, seemingly oblivious to Kylo’s discomfort.

“You're dating Hux, right?” What is this, an interrogation? Is he dating Hux? Does sharing lunch and occasionally kissing count as dating? He supposes their now weekly trips to Starbucks where he watches Hux devour something extremely unhealthy might count. Would Hux agree? Does he want to date Kylo? He’s overthinking it, he knows he is. The lack of definition to his and Hux’s relationship hasn't even been a problem until now. Will Hux be mad if he says yes? Coming over here was a mistake.

Poe waits patiently while Kylo panics, going back to straightening stracks of shirts like this is a normal conversation they're having. “Uh,” is all he gets out before Hux comes to his rescue, gliding in like a knight in shining armour.

“I like this one. Nice catch, Hugs.” Poe chirps with absolutely no shame while Kylo turns red.

“Have you nothing better to do than terrorising my boyfriend, Dameron.” Boyfriend? Fuck, Kylo has a boyfriend? He's never had one of those before. Hux is his boyfriend. This is my boyfriend, Hux. He sounds it out in his head, imagining introducing Hux to people, finally having someone to show off. It’s nice. He's aware that he's smiling like he just found a thousand dollars on the sidewalk while he's lead back to the fitting room he’s starting to develop a pavlovian reaction to, not that he cares, he's got a boyfriend.

“What the bloody hell are you wearing?” Hux makes a face like someone just handed him a pile of shit, sharp eyes trying to set him on fire through sheer force of will. Kylo is more amused than scared at the open disdain on his boyfriend’s face.

“Chaps.” Kylo mutters like it’ll explain everything.

“You look like a gay biker.” He can’t help, but laugh. Hux looks like he's regretting every decision he’s ever made in regards to Kylo.

“I am,” The silver rivets down the side of the chaps are smooth and cold, snapping open with ease. “I don’t drive cars anymore, not since,” He trails off, the mood turning morose. The offending chaps get chucked into a corner along with his jacket, the soggy pile of black leather is an eyesore on the polished wooden floor.

“Get undressed.” Nerves returning, he fumbles to do as he’s told knowing there's no point in delaying it, Hux has already seen what there is to see.

Hux stares unashamedly while Kylo stripps down to his underwear, waiting to hand over a single stitch until he’s been awkwardly standing there in his shorts for a little while, fighting the urge to cover his pierced nipples. Is he expected to do something now? Should he be getting down on his knees and offering his mouth? Luckily Hux saves him from making an even bigger fool of himself by reluctantly handing over the grey slacks hanging on the row of pegs by the door, making no effort whatsoever to hide the hunger in his eyes.

Hux doesn't step back while he bends to put the pants on, forcing Kylo to put his face inches away from his chest. He really should be getting used to this by now, but being this close makes him wonder about what’s underneath those fancy suits, will there be a smooth, pale expanse of skin that he could spend a lifetime mapping out with his tongue. Maybe he’ll uncover a forest of ginger that he can rake his fingers through. What if he has tattoos or piercings like Kylo. How fit is he? Will he be strapped with wiry muscle or soft from a comfortable lifestyle? It’s like a puzzle and he wants to solve it, figure out how to get beneath that well tailored armour.

Cuffs buttoned and shirt tucked in, Hux helps him shrugg into the jacket, a flash of red lining as he adjusts it. A deep red tie, matching the lining goes around his neck, nimble fingers tying it into a symmetrical knot with barely a glance. It’s the first time he sees the suit in its entirety and he can honestly say he’s never been happy to see himself in a suit before now. Fashion is an entirely different world to the one he’s living in, but even he can tell this is expert craftsmanship, the soft fabric turning him into a completely different person, the double breasted jacket hugging his body comfortably. It’s a far cry from the generic, off the rack, black suits Leia would stuff him in, each one getting only one use before he grew out of it again.

“What do you think?” The sudden whisper in his ear jolts him back to the present.

“It’s the first suit I’ve ever actually wanted to wear.” It’s the truth and Hux smiles at him in the mirror, resting his chin on Kylo’s shoulder, hands smoothing the grey fabric down his sides. He’s a warm presence against Kylo’s back, pressed against him from shoulder to hip.

“Who would have thought you’d clean up this well,” He teases. “Looking like this you’ll draw all the attention away from the brides.” Kylo blushes at the praise. He can agree to looking good, but he’ll never be able to carry a suit like Hux does, he doesn’t have the posture and regality. Dressing the part is one thing, easy enough if you’ve got the means, but he’ll still be the same human disaster, Leia Organa’s failed pet project. What Hux sees in him he’ll never understand. Fuck, maybe Hux doesn’t see past his family ties at all. 

All thoughts of sex get shoved aside, his mind drawing connections that weren’t there before. “Did my mother pay you to do this?” Just the thought that Hux’s interest in him might be a set up hurts, the knife Leia drove into him years ago twisting deeper. He wouldn’t put it past her to sink so low as to pay someone to corral him into a relationship approved by her, keep him from tainting her name any further.

“To make this suit, yes.” A frown draws lines in his skin.

“No, not the suit,” He snaps. “This. Did she pay you to distract me?” He hasn’t felt betrayed like this in years, he should have known it was too good to be true from the start. No way would someone like Hux want him.

“How much?” Tears are prickling in the corners of his eyes, but he won’t let them fall, not here. “How much am I worth to her?” He's nearly shouting now, knowing what she paid Hux to seduce him will only hurt more, but not knowing isn't an option. The urge to tear at the suit, rip it apart in front of Hux’s eyes is strong he can barely resist it. How could he have been so fucking stupid? “Tell me!”

Hux flinches at the volume, stepping back in a knee jerk reaction, Kylo immediately misses his warmth. Hux doesn't answer, backing up against the wall, for the first time in the two years he’s known him Hux is scared, met with the raging monster Kylo tries so hard to suppress. 

“Shit, Hux,” He makes an abortive move to touch him, pulling back when Hux, glances wearily between him and the door, no doubt judging the distance. “I’m sorry.” Wiping angrily at his eyes he gathers his damp clothes and leaves before he can do any more damage, as pissed off as he is at Hux he doesn't want to hurt him. He’d never. Poe wisely doesn't speak when he shoulders past him on his way out.

When the worn punching bag rips he can’t be bothered to fix it, his knuckles are bruised and bloody, water turning pink. He rips up an old shirt, wrapping his hands in an effort to keep blood away from the suit he’s still wearing. The apartment is a mess, his phone laying shattered by the wall he threw it into after leaving a long, profanity laced voicemail for Leia, a growing pile of sand spreading across the carpet, splintered wood littering the kitchen from the cupboard door he ripped off and smashed against the counter. A stray sliver of wood floats in the fishbowl where his lone goldfish circles her little stone castle, unbothered by the destruction strewn across the room.

Anger is still simmering just beneath the surface, but it’s being overshadowed by shame and sorrow. Even if Leia paid him to do it Hux was the one good thing he had and now he's thrown away any chance he had at it becoming real, scared off the one person who could put up with him. His boyfriend. Fuck. 

Holding back his tears when alone seems pointless so he cries when he's too tired to fight, lets the sobs rattle him to the core. Seeking comfort in his bed he curls around his pillow, trying to make himself as small as he can, letting his memories pull him back to his childhood when he’d hide himself away to shed his tears. 

If he had anything more than two cans of beer he’d drink himself into oblivion, but as it is, he doesn't feel like going out. He drinks the beer anyway. It’s only enough to give him a weak buzz that he pretends is sufficient to numb his feelings, desperately trying to drown out the rest with an explosion riddled movie he found on tv. It helps a little bit, but he keeps remembering the look on Hux’s face, the fear straining his eyes wide open. He’ll never forget that look.

The only tiny measure of comfort he can find in the whole situation is that at least Leia’s plan failed before he got in too deep. As messed up as it is, he hopes Hux gets paid anyway. For a job well done. If nothing else, she’s fucked up his capacity for trust even more so he won’t embarrass her by dating someone inappropriate. Going back to jail is starting to become a very tempting option. How many years can he get with destruction of public property? Surely if he's determined and evasive enough he can fuck up enough shit for at least ten years before they catch him. He’ll do that, when he feels like going out again.

Laying in bed and staring at a suit isn't the most productive use of his time, he should be outside destroying public property, but since he made up his mind yesterday he's lost his motivation. He’s supposed to be at work, if he hadn’t broken his phone he would have called in. Phasma will probably tear into him the next time she sees him for playing hooky and leaving her alone, acting like he actually makes a difference, slouching around and scaring customers. The store always earns more when he’s not there.

A sharp knock on the door sets him on high alert, the only people who know his address are Rey, Phasma and Leia, one worse than the other. He has a bad feeling about this. The knocking soon turns into pounding.

“I know you're in there, Ben,” It’s Rey, thank god, she's the only one capable of empathy, also the only one with a spare key.

He’s quick to turn his back, burrowing into the sheets to hide his nudity before Rey can get the door open, he’s not exactly keen for his baby cousin to find out he has pierced nipples and what’s very obviously a prison tattoo above his hip. He’s very fond of the greyscale swallow, but that doesn't change the fact that a man called Randy the Fist, who used to work for the mob, put it there as a price for knocking out the teeth of a neo nazi that nobody liked. Rey doesn't need to know that. Kylo is pretty sure his family lied to her about where he was during that time, but Rey was sharp as a tack at fifteen and probably had it all figured out within a few hours.

Prison has become a taboo subject in the Skywalker-Organa-Solo clan. The second he was convicted it was unanimously decided that he didn't exist while he was behind bars, no letters, phone calls or visits. It was lonely, but he'd rather stare at a concrete wall than having to sit through a monitored meeting with somebody pretending to give a shit. Then when he got out they had the audacity of throwing him a welcome home party as if he’d just moved away for a while and not killed a person. He knew, just as clearly as they could see, that he wasn't Ben Solo anymore. The skinny kid they'd abandoned for the sake of image had been eaten by anger and betrayal. Needless to say, that was another one of Leia’s little get togethers he'd ruined simply by showing up with forty pounds of added muscle and long hair.

The door finally creaks open, protesting against the debris hindering its path. It’s the first time Rey has been witness to the aftermath of a breakdown, the mirror at the store can’t even compare to what he’s done to his apartment. There was another episode this morning, when he couldn’t stop replaying Hux’s reaction on loop, that resulted in the majority of his dishes and glassware shattered, another cabinet door, the rickety old table and chairs, a few pillows, and the contents of every shelf and drawer in the apartment, ripped, broken and thrown around. The small studio space looks like the aftermath of a war. His bed and the suit are the only things left untouched, only a few shards of glass and plastic from when he put his foot through the tv clinging to his sheets.

“Ben?” Not answering is childish, he knows, but maybe, just maybe, she won’t spot him among the wreckage and leave, go back to her perfect life so he can rot in peace. She takes the destruction in stride, he’ll give her that. 

One positive effect of the remains of his life is that he can map her path across the floor without having to look, going by the tinkling of cheap utensils she’s in the nook that used to be a kitchen. The soft scratch of sand tells him she’s getting closer. Creaking wood and shuffling fabric is the last stretch before his bed. 

Mattress dipping under her weight she crawls onto his bed with no regard to personal space, but instead of yelling at him she scoots up against his back in an awkward hug full of good intentions. It’s the softest thing he’s felt in a long time and it reminds him of Hux making tears well up again. It leaves him wondering how long until his eyes dry out, he was crying just an hour ago when he ran out of steam and started to cool down from his fit. 

It’s humiliating crying in front of his cousin, makes him feel like even more of a failure than he already is. What would Han think if he knew his son couldn’t keep it together in front of someone, least of all a girl. He’d get ridiculed for so much as a hint of excess moisture in his eye once he was past ten. 

“Men don’t cry, kid.”

Rey doesn’t do anything, doesn’t try to make him feel better with soft bullshit, she just holds him in place letting him cry himself out. She starts combing through his hair when he’s down to just sniffles, gentle fingers untangling the knots. For the first time since he can remember she waits for him to talk first, to open up without being teased into it. 

“She paid him,” He chokes out. “She paid him to,” Saying it out loud hurts more than he’d like to admit. He knows he doesn’t really have a good basis of conviction, no proof whatsoever, but Rey doesn’t question it. He just knows. If Hux actually liked him he wouldn’t have waited two years to do something about it. 

“Screw him, he’s not the only man in the world.” It’s a weak attempt at cheering him up, but he’s wasted two years pining after Hux and being so close to having what he’s dreamed about, then had it torn away. Empty words won’t fix this. He has to get away, somewhere he’ll never see Hux again. 

Rey leaves after ordering him some take out, moaning about having to pick up his shift at the shop and doing it all with a smile on her face. He doesn’t feel much like eating, but he forces it down anyway because Rey will kill him if he doesn’t. 

The hours before she comes back with more food feel like an eternity in silence. He’s starting to regret breaking the tv. Company is nice even if he doesn’t really want it. Still he takes comfort in listening to her shuffling his mess to the side so there’s a mostly clean path to the other vital areas of his shitty apartment. He would offer to help if he wasn’t still naked, at least that’s what he tells himself. 

“Hux asked about you today,” She mentions offhandedly while braiding his hair. “He was worried about you.” He can tell she’s on the fence about the whole thing, unsure which side to settle on, the credible tailor or the family failure. “Leia called,” His heart skips a beat, hasn’t his mother done enough? “Something about a voicemail?” He doesn’t reply, focusing instead on glaring a hole through the wall. If they’re both so fucking worried the can cry to each other. “She says she didn’t pay him.”

“Why else would he be interested in me?” If not for the money then surely to gain connections. Even if it is through the estranged son. 

“Maybe he just likes you.” The suggestion is squeaky, like a shopping cart with a faulty wheel limping into the conversation. 

“That’s not possible.” He’d like to believe it’s true, that someone could actually want him; but when his own family doesn’t why would anyone else?

A heavy sigh brushes against the back of his head. She undoes a braid, starting again. His hair must look ridiculous. Why is she even bothering with him? When she could be in her own home, spending time with her fiancée, being happy. He didn’t invite her to his pity party so she has no obligation to him, yet she continues braiding his hair. She’s acting like the mother he wished he had which is a disturbing thought. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Looks like Rey has decided on which side of the fence to put her feet down and it’s not his. Leia probably offered to pay for the honeymoon if she could convince him to go back to Hux.

“Get out.” He's sick and tired of this, his family doesn't care, he knows this, yet he keeps letting himself get tricked. Is he really that desperate for affection? History is repeating itself a day later and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Rey doesn't leave, but she wisely stops touching him, leaning back against the wall behind his bed.

“She didn’t pay me to do anything, Ben.” The statement is calm and clear, but he's not sure if he should believe it. Just like Hux, why should she care without having something to gain?

“That's not my name!” He’s yelling now, latching onto anything he can argue about, eyes already searching for something he can break. His bedside lamp is mostly whole. It shatters satisfyingly against the wall. A stray mug is next, he purposely aims it at the wall above Rey’s head. If she won’t walk out maybe he can scare her away. “Get out!” She ducks out of the way otherwise making no move to leave.

Kylo keeps throwing everything he can reach at her, not caring that his sheet is slipping, slowly revealing the dragon coiled around his bicep and over his shoulder. Let her see, each and every one of them. Every scar, every spot of ink. Maybe that way she’ll finally understand, see him for the monster he is. 

“Sit down and stop acting like a child.” Something in the tone of her voice makes him obey. She looks ridiculous scrambling off the bed so she can get into her scolding pose, he turns his head, staring resolutely at the floor as he waits for the verbal lashing. “People don’t need to be paid to care about you. I don’t, Phasma doesn’t and Hux wouldn’t even consider it.” Firm fingers grab his chin, forcing him to face her. “We care, Ben. Even when you don’t make it easy for us.”

“I killed someone.” If Randy’s artwork isn’t enough to scare her off, the truth will have to be. 

A heavy sigh, “I know.” She crouches before him moving his head around until he finally relents and meets her eye. “Guess what? I still like you.” Annoyingly persistent and hard to scare, it’s how she’s always been. 

“Why won’t you just leave?” Rolling her eyes, she sits back on her heels obviously getting annoyed at him. Silence creeps in like a heavy fog. 

The intermission allows him to retreat back into his own mind, disassociating. The place he goes to is soft and thoughtless, a pleasant ocean of black nothingness. He likes it there on most occasions, sometimes the darkness feels oppressive, like being submerged in molasses. Today it’s good, a way to distance himself from his own emotional turmoil. In this vast emptiness there’s nothing to worry about, no directions to choose between. It’s the kind of freedom he’s always wanted, but will never have. 

A very excited “Ooo!” Draws him back out, the grey shadows in his vision fading back into clarity. “Your nipples are pierced.” There’s a cheeky grin splitting Rey’s face, bunching up her cheeks making her go squinty. A little yank on one of the silver rings sharpens his sluggish mind in an instant.

“Don’t.” Both hands clasped over his nipples he scoots back out of her reach. Face burning he quickly yanks his sheet back up, shielding his body from Rey’s penchant to pick on shiny things. “Don’t do that.” She pursues him in a childish attempt at lightening the dour mood, but if anything it’s getting worse. The whole thing just reminds him of when Leia used to pretend she gave a shit and tried to tickle him because it was the only way she could make him laugh. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now. Treating him like a grumpy child who’s problem can be fixed with a well placed poke or a stupid joke is only going to piss him off more. 

“I don’t know how to help you, Ben.” The door closing behind her back brings a fragile peace to the apartment, he hates that he already misses her presence, but it’s what's best for everyone. People like him are destined to be alone. He really needs to get going if he wants to be back in jail before the wedding. It would be a shame if he never got to wear the suit, but wearing it might just hurt a little too much. Nobody wants to see a dressed up criminal crying at a lesbian wedding for all the wrong reasons. A polished turd pretending to fit in. 

Rey doesn't come back the next day, or the day after that, effectively proving his point and unfortunately forcing him to seek out food. A quarter box of Lucky Charms will only last so long and he's getting sick of water, since he broke his phone he has no other option than to put on some pants.

The deli down the street is about as far as he’s willing to go, it’s not the kind of establishment he’d usually subject himself too, but going two blocks over for some pizza is out of the question. The last person he ever expected to see at the counter, looking every bit the runaway ZZ Top member he always has, is Randy The Fist. If it wasn’t for his stomach gurgling in protest he would have turned on his heel and left. Praying Randy won’t recognise him is about the best he can do, being invisible is not a prison skill he ever got the hang off, he’s starting to regret that now. 

Heart in his throat he orders pastrami on rye because it seems like the simplest and safest option on the smudged menu board. Not too many ways to fuck that up. He mentally urges on the husk of a human being that's making his food, with gloves, thank the lord. Still, if he got food poisoning he might die, it’s one way to solve all his problems.

Randy’s gone grey since Kylo last saw him, several new tattoos visible under his surprisingly clean shirt. He looks like the kind of man you’d cross the street to avoid passing, but in this part of town people like that account for about half the population, Kylo included, so he can’t really blame him for that. Trying not to stare is like resisting a perfectly cooked steak. The people he met on the inside always felt like fairytale creatures to him, people that shouldn’t exist outside of the prison walls, but there he is, the alleged murderer who gave him his first tattoo. He’s sagged a little with age, some new lines around the eyes that are concentrating on the sketchpad he’s leaning over, weathered by life and the passing of time.

The guy behind the counter calls out to him with a bored expression on his face, waving Kylo’s poorly wrapped sandwich at him. He curses himself for not paying attention when Randy looks up at the noise, looking towards Kylo with instant recognition. “Tooth Fairy?” He sounds way too enthusiastic for a man who’s spent a good portion of his life behind bars, tattooing inmates for various favours and giving out the occasional prize to those who finally pull the punch that’s been long coming. “How’s life been since they let you go?”

“Uh…, shit.” There's no point in lying, even if he said he was fine his appearance would give him away. He looks about as well as expected after two days of no coffee, and personal grooming.

Randy laughs at his blunt response. “Yeah, you look the part. What happened, girlfriend leave you?” Girlfriend, of course. 

“Something like that.” He’s not exactly feeling compelled to share his problems with somebody who could kill him and dispose of the body with no remorse.

“No need to looks so scared, son, I got out of the game, opened up my own shop a block over,” Randy going straight is about as believable as his mother baking a cake. “Let me know if you ever need a tattoo.”

“Actually,” Getting a new tattoo is a bad idea, so was developing a habit for commemorating significant events in his life with ink. The swallow for time served and the white dragon nestled in flowers for his freedom from Leia. Hux has had an undeniable impact on his life the past few years and he deserves a reminder, a warning not to let people in again.

“Shop’s closed today so I’ve got time if you know what you want.” Randy must see an opportunity in Kylo’s scruffy face and wrinkled clothes, a heartbroken man susceptible to bad ideas and easy to wheedle money out off. 

“How about another bird.”

Like Randy said, the shop is one block over, small, but clean and well kept, pictures of colourful tattoos filling the walls. They settle down in the backroom with a selection of sketchbooks for Kylo to leaf through. Drawing after drawing of beautiful birds greet him in one of the books, everything from plain sparrows to vibrant parrots. One in particular draws his eye, the red plumage and clever eyes making it a good representation of Hux.

It joins the swallow on his side, two birds gliding across the expanse of his skin. Hux forever branded onto his body. Looking at it nearly makes him cry again, Randy doesn’t mention it just bandages it in companionable silence and offers him a beer. 

Taking the offer is a bad idea, but he does anyway. He drinks until he can’t walk straight and his temper becomes a hair trigger, he’d care if he had anyone other than Randy for company. 

Staggering home drunk in the late afternoon gets you a few nasty looks, he hasn’t gotten into a fight yet, but if people keep staring at him like that he just might. He’s unsure if he should be grateful or not that everyone keeps their teeth where they should be instead of littering the sidewalk. Then again it probably wouldn’t make him feel any better than trashing his whole apartment did. 

Stairs are a lot harder when drunk and he’s starting to understand why he’s never drunk this much before, other than the anger issue, that is. The alcohol has done nothing to numb him like he’d hoped, it’s like rubbing coarse salt in a fresh wound. He does cry when he can’t manage to unlock his door because he can’t help thinking that Hux could probably unlock doors better than anyone. He could unlock Kylo’s door like a pro. Then he remembers he doesn’t have anywhere for Hux to sit since he broke all his chairs and his sheets are dirty which segways into thinking about Hux in general. It takes a sluggish minute to catch up to his runaway thoughts with the fact that Hux doesn’t even know where he lives. So now he’s crying at his own drunken mind, the still locked door and the fact that he’s hungry again. 

Why do people do this for fun? Getting drunk can’t always be this miserable, right? There has to be something good about it, or maybe he’s just unlucky in this as well as everything else in life.

Falling asleep on the suspiciously stained hallway carpet was not part of his plan, but that door is staying locked until he’s sobered up some. Originally the plan was to sit down for a bit, count the cracks in the ceiling and try his best to ignore that unidentified smell permeating the wallpaper. He really should move, odds are he’ll get booted once the landlord finds out what he's done anyway.

He’s happy to find he stayed mostly upright when Hux wakes him.

Hux?

Hux! He jumps back from the soft touch on his shoulder, stomach turning unpleasantly at the sudden movement. Wanting to be mad and actually being mad are two different things, right now he wants Hux’s teeth on the floor, but he couldn’t ever bring himself to do that. Raising his fist to Hux is out of the question.

“Huh?” Is about as eloquent as he can manage to be, he hasn't been out nearly long enough to sober up, only now he's done being sad and hungry, and moved on to being tired and feeling unpleasantly sticky.

Hux smiles at him with pity in his eyes. “Rey told me to check on you.” Kylo frowns, damn it, Rey. “I told her you wouldn’t want to see me, but she was very insistent.” Knowing Rey she probably came after Hux with creative threats until he caved, Kylo is familiar with that technique, it’s how she’s gotten him to bend to her will more often than he’d care to admit. “What have you done to yourself, Ren?” Those long fingers he’s missed so much tuck his wayward hair behind his ear, trailing down his cheek to rest on his jaw.

“Got a tattoo.” Before he can think too much about it he lifts his hoodie to show off the bird that looks more like a red smudge under the clingfilm and excess ink than the elegant bird it is. “‘S you.” He slurs, slipping a little to the side now that he’s only got one arm to support him.

A giggle escapes him when Hux’s fingers tickle his side. He’s not sure if its a figment of his drunk imagination or not, but if it isn’t Hux is turning a cute shade of pink. Up until now Kylo wasn’t even sure the man was capable of blushing. 

Turns out Hux really is good at unlocking doors after he’s found Kylo’s keys on the carpet. Did he put them there? Standing up is too much of a hassle so he settles for crawling past Hux, who’s standing slack jawed just inside the door, and heading for the bed. After slipping around in the sand from his punching bag a bit he makes it to the familiar comfort of his ancient mattress and still unchanged sheets. 

“Jesus Christ, Ren.” He drops the posh English accent like a hot potato, seemingly not even noticing his transition into Irish. “Did you get robbed?” He toes at what Kylo thinks is a table leg, probably contemplating calling the police. 

The pillow he’s shoved his face into muffles his reply in the negative, but the intention gets across. He can practically hear the cogs turning inside that ginger head, drawing lines from point A to B, C, D, and the entire rest of the alphabet. “I missed you.” Kylo quietly admits to the pillow, listening to Hux sputtering at the disaster zone he’s just walked into. Sleep reclaims him to the lullaby of inventive cursing. 

This time when he wakes up it’s to a splitting headache, dry mouth and a lot less debris, even the spilled sand is mostly gone. Hux is gone too, but there's a note taped to his forehead saying he’ll be back when Kylo is sober. If it wasn't for the little scrap of paper he’d be sure Hux was a figment of his imagination. Sober he is, miserably so and more confused than ever as to why people drink themselves stupid only to suffer later. To top it all off his new tattoo is itchy and a little sore from where he's been laying on it for hours. Fuck Hux for making him like this. He’s probably off conspiring with Rey and Leia, anything to lessen the disgrace Kylo tends to bring wherever he goes.

He wants to cry for a completely different reason now, but just moving his eyes hurts more than it has any right to. He tries sitting up only to immediately lie back down when his stomach protests. Trying to remember everything he did yesterday is about the only thing he can do. The first three drinks are clear enough, after that everything becomes a jumble of snapshots that could go either way on the scales of reality. The one thing he absolutely is sure he actually did was waxing poetic about Hux and then crying some after the beer got switched out with whiskey. One shot and he was out for the count.

Groaning seems to be the only form of communication he's capable off so when the door creaks open Kylo grunts and groans about it to no avail, protesting meekly when Hux kneels next to the bed. “Enjoying yourself?” He quips knowing damn well that Kylo isn’t. The growl he receives in response coaxes a pleased smirk out of him. “Should have thought about that before getting polluted, be glad you didn't eat anything.”

“Are you ready to talk to me like an adult? Explain what the bloody hell is going on, perhaps? Why you think your mam is paying me to like you?” The words are harsh, not even the comforting lilt can ease them, but Hux’s eyes betray his worry. “I don’t need financial motivation to fancy you, I did that way before I knew who your mam was” He continues when Kylo doesn't reply. “If anything I’d love to kick her arse from here to Dublin for making you think you couldn’t be loved. I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you think I wasn't genuine, that I don’t care,” a manicured finger jabbs Kylo in the chest. “Neither of us are very good at this whole relationship thing, are we?”

He wants to believe Hux, he really does. The choice is his, to trust and risk getting hurt or keep pushing everyone away. He craves the former, desperate for affection, but is it worth it if it turns out Hux really is a paid whore? Not knowing feels worse than trying, there's always the chance that Leia has no involvement and that's not an opportunity he cares to pass up, not like one last twist of the knife can make him feel worse than he already does. Regardless of the outcome, at least he won’t have to show up to the wedding on his own.

“The wedding is next weekend, I’ll be dressed and ready by nine am if you decide you want to try this.” The little notebook he uses for measurements emerge from within the grey Dogtooth suit, Hux scribbles something down before tearing out the page dropping the note next to Kylo’s head. It’s an address, somewhere on the nice side of town. “If not, then I suppose this is goodbye.” Kylo hopes the remorse dulling Hux’s eyes is real, the slight droop to his stiff posture. 

The urge to reach out is strong, not possessing the will to refrain he allows his hand to reach out and cup Hux’s jaw instantly realising how much he’s missed the scratch of Hux’s beard against his skin. Like a big, ginger cat, Hux leans into the touch, eyes nearly slipping shut. After a minute he smiles, turning his head to press a small kiss to Kylo’s palm before retreating, slipping out the door just a quickly as he came, a muttered, “Your fish is dead.” as a goodbye.

A quick glance at the currently slightly murky bowl on the windowsill behind him confirms it. Make that, four, dead from neglect. The bloated, yellow blob judges him with empty eyes where it’s floating amongst the tiny flakes of food that he’s apparently tried to feed it while drunk. He can’t even keep a single fish alive, how on earth is he going to manage a relationship? Maybe the short funeral he holds in the bathroom is symbolic of something?

\--

On the day of the wedding he realises he doesn't know how to tie a tie, he's about to stuff it in his pocket when he hesitates, folding it instead, Hux is already going to tear into him when he shows up at his door wearing chaps. The ride across town is nerve wracking, of course Hux has to live in the suburbs, if it wasn't already obvious that he wasn't short of cash his house really puts the cherry on top. No sane person would live in a big house by themselves, surrounded by soccer moms and screaming children if they weren't trying to spend excess money. The family friendly atmosphere is making Kylo more aware than ever of his ex con status.

Several pairs of judging eyes follow him up Hux’s driveway, staring from behind curtains and hedges. By coming here he's entered a den of lions, health nuts with an uncontrollable need to shove their superior lifestyles and shiny children on anyone and everyone. Except for people like Kylo. In one of the yards a father has emerged on the porch, keeping a watchful eye on the three kids running circles on the lawn.

Hux, probably drawn by the sound of Kylo’s Harley, slips out of the immaculate house just as Kylo climbs off his bike. “You came.” He barely has time to get his helmet off before he's pulled into a kiss.

Kissing Hux is every bit as great as he remembers, the familiar scent of his cologne invading his senses. Judgemental suburbanites be damned, wrapping his arms around Hux’s waist he lifts him off the ground and spins them, like a proper reunion kiss from the movies. Hux makes an indignant noise at the silly move, wrapping his long legs around Kylo’s waist, but otherwise doesn't complain, focusing instead on getting his tongue inside Kylo’s mouth.

“Where’s your tie?” Is the first comment he gets when they break apart.

“I didn’t know how to tie it.” He admits, putting Hux down and digging the red strip of cloth out of his pocket, sheepishly presenting it to his boyfriend in a plea for help. Rolling his eyes, Hux grabs the tie, wordlessly unzipping Kylo’s leather jacket and tying the tie with expert hands, scoffing at him all the while. Taking a deep breath to steel himself Kylo asks the question that's hanging in the air between them, “Are we just not going to talk about this?” It would be stupid to think that they could just go on ignoring the past week and a half.

“Let’s not ruin this day before we’ve left, hmm?” They will have to talk eventually, but Kylo finds himself agreeing, this day will be tough enough without adding their dysfunctional relationship to the pile. Traumatic childhoods and criminal background can be pushed aside for now, this day isn't for them.

Hux is surprisingly amenable to riding bitch, probably in the spirit of keeping things civil, only grumbling about having to wear a helmet in the warm weather. “If it ruins my hair, I blame you.” Having a warm weight against his back while driving is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, Hux relaxing more, grip easing once they leave the city behind. He tries to imagine they're escaping, going on an adventure somewhere in the wide open world instead of their actual destination, somewhere he vowed to never set foot again, his childhood home.

The Organa estate is just as huge and sprawling as its always been, the wrought iron gate polished and dripping in white flowers. Artie, the gatekeeper looks the same as he always has, a little more grey, but still wearing the same uniform, same hair, same welcoming grin. Kylo used to think the little brick booth was where he lived, that he was just a legless entity whose one function was to press a button and have nonsense conversations with Han and uncle Luke, he’s never once seen him leave the booth. It’s been almost three years since he last set foot here, but Artie doesn't hesitate to open the gate for him, waving them through with well wishes that fall on deaf ears.

Perfectly trimmed topiaries line the entire drive up to the house, the same designs that have always been there, three white balloons floating above each one. Kylo doesn't begrudge Rey and Phasma for deciding to have their wedding here, renting a venue equal to this would cost a fortune, he still wishes they’d have chosen somewhere else, anywhere else. It’s bad enough that he has to face Leia, but to do it on her terf, in this fairytale wedding wonderland, is a battle he’s already lost. Hux squeezes him reassuringly as they approach ground zero.

He takes a certain amount of comfort and pride in the looks they get as he pulls up next to the freshly washed and polished cars lining the gravel drive, especially the withering stare from Leia who’s welcoming guests at the door. Disrupting the party would be ideal, just like the good old days, but he’ll refrain for Rey’s sake. Making Leia’s day more difficult than strictly necessary, however, Kylo doesn't consider himself above pettiness.

It only takes a moment to stuff his leathers into the saddle bags and dig out the gifts, his ears go red at the way a pair of piercing eyes follow his every move with unmistakable appreciation. He does a little turn for Hux and immediately feels stupid for even having thought it, but it’s not like he’s never made a fool of himself before. A little bit of preening later and they're about as ready as they’ll ever be.

Like always Leia is dressed to impress, even when she’s not the center of attention, the elegant gown she’s wearing stands out like a beacon among the working class guests milling about. There’s a clear divide between the Organa-Solo-Skywalker clan and Phasma’s guests, but Leia gives them all the same practiced smile, directing them around the house and to the garden where the ceremony is being held. 

“Ben,” Campaign smile perfect and pearly white, Kylo’s eye twitches in annoyance. “I see you brought someone.” She glances at Hux, clearly impressed with the caliber of his date and not at all bothered by his gender. 

He doesn’t answer, childish and petty as it may be, but Hux apparently sees an opportunity and takes it. “Droch áird chúgat lá gaoithe.” He says with a sunny smile, bending to kiss the back of Leia’s hand. Kylo knows Hux well enough to recognise that it’s an act, Hux is never that polite, and even though his words are a mystery it’s probably something passive aggressive. “Congratulations on this happy day.” The confused look on Leia’s face is the best thing he’s seen in years. 

“What did you tell her?” He whispers once they’re out of earshot. 

Hux grins like a fox, mischief glinting in his eyes, “Do dtí mé go mbeadh a fhios.” He taps the side of his nose. 

Kylo might actually die if Hux keeps speaking Gaelic, who the hell even knows how to speak Gaelic? Hux apparently, who’s way more Irish than Kylo originally thought, is ,at this rate, going to break the scale of hotness. He’s pretty sure he could get off on being insulted in Gaelic if his currently very enthusiastic libido is anything to go by. 

Hux has apparently caught on to Kylo’s newly acquired kink already. Smirking he steers them off to the side, leaning in so that Kylo can feel his hot breath ghosting across his neck, “Is maith leat é seo?” He nods even though he doesn’t understand what’s being said. Hux chuckles, placing a small kiss just above the collar of his shirt, “Buachaill fola.” He can’t quite suppress the shiver that runs through him. 

He is so fucked, hopefully by Hux, making it through an entire wedding without coming in his pants is going to be his greatest achievement yet, especially if Hux keeps whispering in his ear. The best he can hope for is keeping his crotch strategically covered and staying far, far away from kids before someone brands him with a worse title than the family failure/murderer. 

At least Rey has been kind enough not to saddle him with any responsibilities so he can just sit down and ignore the rest of the guests, especially Lando, who’s waving to get his attention. Probably to chew him out for his disappearing act. Hux takes Kylo’s emotional shutdown in stride, sitting quietly and offering his support by threading their fingers together. It’s not long before all the guests have arrived and Phasma is ready at the altar in her shimmering gown, smiling nervously at Luke who’s officiating.

Two hundred heads turn as one when the string quartet starts playing, waiting with baited breath. A round of gasps and the shutters of cameras sweep through the crowds when the patio doors swing open and Han steps forth with the blushing bride on his arm, Uncle Chewie filming them from the first row.

Having chosen to embrace her feminine side Rey is draped in floral lace and a sweeping veil, her bouquet dripping flowers down the front of her gown. Finn, Rey’s best friend since high school, follows close behind, his yellow tie, matching the dress of the girl next to him. All the unbridled happiness is making his hair stand on end, seeing everyone's love for his cousin is like taking a hammer to that ever present knife, digging the wound that much deeper. It hurts to know that they'll never look at him that way, not even on his wedding day when the time comes, if, the time comes. He doubts Leia would do much more than send a generic gift in the mail.

Everyone is cooing and smiling at the two brides making their vows, Kylo can’t deny that they make a vision, Phasma towering above her newly minted wife in six inch pumps, shimmering in the sunlight while Rey looks every bit the fairytale bride in her slim dress. Their joy is infectious. After the wholly unnecessary outburst of applause at the kiss Kylo can’t wait until they start serving alcohol.

Unfortunately for him, cocktail hour is just as torturous as everything else so far, he can’t even count the amount of times him and Hux have been interrupted by nosy family friends wanting to know where he’s been, what he’s doing and if he has a girlfriend to marry, blatantly ignoring his, very obviously, boyfriend who keeps being passive aggressive in gaelic. Only the younger generation seem to understand that Hux is his date and coos annoyingly at them for being ‘such a cute couple’. Suffering through a conversation with Han would be better than this.

Among endless comments and rude questions about his “impressive” body and where he’s been hiding it, he’s managed to put away two glasses of champagne before Hux starts steering him away from alcohol claiming he doesn't want a repeat of last sunday. He wants to be mad, but Hux is right, he'd best stay coherent, there are other ways to embarrass Leia than getting blind drunk before dinner is served. He’d rather have coffee anyway. 

One familiar face he never expected to see was Poe fucking Dameron hamming it up with the children, playing tag. “What the fuck is he doing here?” He hisses at Hux watching a grown ass man dodging between bushes acting like entertaining a bunch of brats is the greatest thing in the world.

“How the bloody hell should I know?” Hux hisses back.

Poe does eventually notice them glaring daggers at him, waving cheerily when he spots them skulking at the edges of the party, sneering at their surroundings. A path of escape, doesn't become available soon enough, leaving them to be intercepted by the nicest man in the universe. Fuck this. 

“I see you made up,” a lighthearted clap on his shoulder and a cheesy thumbs up, “that’s so great!” Kylo shares a glance with Hux, a plea for help.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, you twat?” Apparently Hux isn't one for sugarcoating outside of work. Anything goes and all that.

“I’m here with Finn, my fiancé,” Poe seems entirely unperturbed at being insulted, smiling like it’s the best day of his life and nothing can bring it down. “we just got engaged.” Well, that explains it. Is everyone, but him getting married these days? Is this another one of those trends he's missed?

“Well, you're ruining our day with your enthusiasm.” Hux sneers.

“Lighten up, Hugs, it’s a wedding, not a funeral,” How can one person be so happy? “Maybe at the end of the night you’ll let Kylo replace that stick up your ass with something different, eh?” Kylo’s face lights up like a bonfire at the crude suggestion. Was his tie always this tight?

Poe lands another slap on Kylo’s shoulder, running off to rejoin the game of tag. He won’t put up with this bullshit for one second more. A positive aspect of being in his childhood home is knowing every corner of it, every empty room and hiding spot. Like where Leia keeps the spare key to her office.

The key is right where he remembers, Leia’s office hasn't changed much either, just a few more pictures up on the walls, it’s unlikely they’ll be bothered here. He’s never liked this room much, it’s always felt stifled and impersonal with its wood panels and leather furniture, but now that he isn't being watched and berated for something his fingers are itching to explore. Hux opts for lounging in one of the expensive chairs watching Kylo rummage through drawers. He doesn’t expect to find any dirt, and if he did he wouldn't use it, he’s bitter, but not enough to jeopardize Leia’s career, though it would be nice to have something he could hold over her head.

As expected he finds nothing, just documents and stationary, a box of courtesy cigars, matches, spare perfume, and a bottle of unscented lotion. Generic desk inventory. At the sight of the cigar box Hux perks up, helping himself to the expensive tobacco, tucking one into his inner breast pocket and clipping the end of another with a small cutter that he fishes out of his pants. “I didn’t know you smoked,” If Hux looked posh before, he looks like a lord now, reclining with his cigar.

“I prefer cigars and pipes,” he takes a drag, exhaling the sweet smoke in a puff of white. “Cigarettes smell, nobody wants a tailor who reeks.”

They sit in silence, listening to the party outside, the muffled toasts and laughter. It’s peaceful, reminiscent of their coffee dates from before Kylo fucked everything up.

“You really do look look great in that suit.” Hux comments after a little while, puffing away on his cigar. “You were a delight to work on,” The wink that follows is clearly hinting at anything, but work. “Fada agus tiubh.” His smirk is downright predatory, making Kylo squirm in his seat. Not knowing what's being said does nothing to dampen his arousal, Hux could be reciting a recipe for mashed potatoes and he wouldn’t care.

“Ní féidir liom a chreidiúint go dtéann sé seo ort,” Kylo is hanging on to every melodic word that slips out on a tendril of smoke. “Cuireann sé caorach orm.” Hux finally moves, sauntering around the desk and lowering himself into Kylo’s lap, having no visible reaction to the massive erection he’s just sat down on. “Cad atá againn anseo? Mar sin, fonnmhar.” He whispers, nuzzling into Kylo’s neck like he did before, placing a trail of kisses from his jaw to collar and back. Soft lips close around his earlobe, tongue playing with the little gold stud it finds.

The way Kylo sees it, they have two choices; either he says goodbye to his virginity in his mother’s office, or his balls will turn so blue they could be used as christmas ornaments. Personally, he’s for the former, but he's under no illusion that Hux is in charge here. Hux kisses him then, Kylo’s brain short circuits.

He has never smoked a cigar in his life, but he could easily become addicted to the flavour clinging to Hux’s tongue, the taste of smouldering grass in a summer breeze, of rain and the charged air after a thunderstorm, sweet and seductive. Man, he's missed this. The soft lips, the firm hand guiding him, teaching him how to kiss Hux breathless.

Hux is soft and pliant under his hands, letting Kylo explore to his content. He strokes and touches everything within his reach, pushing his hips up against the weight in his lap, seeking just a little friction, anything at all. Hux evades him, rising up on his knees. The chair creaks at the movement and Kylo whines at the loss of contact, not caring how needy he might sound. “I won’t let you ruin your suit.” He's too far gone to be embarrassed by the admonishment.

With some measure of difficulty he lifts Hux onto the desk, crowding in between his spread legs capturing Hux’s lips in an eager kiss that's broken all too soon. Taking one last drag of his cigar Hux drops it into the crystal ashtray, with both hands free he strips them of their jackets and shirts with impressive speed. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck, Hux.”

“Inis dom cad ba mhaith leat.” In lieu of a reply he rutts up against Hux’s crotch, feeling like he might come just from the answering hardness he finds there, definite proof that Hux is actually into it, into him.

He’s unsure what to do next, his lack of experience supremely annoying when he’s finally gotten this far. Porn is useful, but he’s wise enough to know that the stuff he sees on screen is unlikely to fly in the real world, he pretty sure Hux would take offence if Kylo forced his cock down his throat with no warning. That’s not what he wants anyway, not now. What he does want is for Hux to bend him over and fuck him crosseyed, but he’s too scared to ask. He wants to know what the real thing feels like instead of his fingers and a fantasy. 

Hux must have sensed his hesitation for he stops his exploration of the white dragon and its nest of flowers covering his shoulder and upper arm, pulling back to look Kylo in the eye. “I won’t make fun of you for anything want,” it’s like a time out has been called. “You have to tell me so I don’t do something you don’t want me to.” Kylo hates feeling so incompetent, this isn’t a conversation they should have to have. They should be able to just fuck like normal people. 

“We can do anything you want, all you have to do is say it.” Right, but how? How is he supposed to tell Hux that he wants his dick up his ass? It was all so much easier when Hux would just get him off, no conversation needed. If he’s bad at everyday social situations he’s downright disastrous at sexual ones. 

“I…,” He considers saying ‘whatever you want’, but that would just leave them running in pointless circles and his erection is already flagging as it is. Knowing that words will fail him now as they always do he figures showing is better. 

Quickly rummaging through the desk again he presents Hux with the bottle of lotion, hiding his burning face in the crook of Hux’s neck. As promised, Hux doesn’t laugh, instead he makes a needy noise Kylo didn’t think he was capable of making before asking him if they should use the desk or the couch. 

There is a moment of calm before the storm where Hux hops of the desk to move the ashtray to the liquor cabinet, citing he doesn’t want to start a fire. Then Hux is on him like a fox in heat, reversing their positions in a flash. The desk creaks under Kylo’s weight and neither one notices the sound of breaking glass as a small picture frame falls to the floor. 

Hux is eager and so, so hot, licking into Kylo’s mouth in a perfectly sloppy kiss, his face will be red from beard burn after this, but he finds he doesn’t care that much. Let them see. If there ever was a way to annoy Leia it would be to show back up, red faced, disheveled and obviously fucked.

He finally gets a good look at Hux’s bare chest when Hux moves on to ridding Kylo of his pants and shoes. It’s all smooth, pale skin, not a single hair or freckle in sight, but for the light trail disappearing into the waistband of his pants. He’s ginger, a real redhead. Kylo is happy to find that Hux’s colouring is genuine and not another facet of his public disguise. 

Pants off, legs spread, splayed out before hooded, green eyes. He’s never felt more naked. Wandering hands distract him soon enough, careful fingers tracing his tattoos, tugging on his piercings. They’re effective in bringing his hard on back full force, it’s not long before he’s leaking and ready to beg. Hux pays him no mind, going everywhere, but where Kylo wants him the most. He’s at the halfway point between crazy and braindead with lust when Hux backs off and starts going through the desk drawers until he comes up victorious with a stray hair tie. What the hell does he need with a hair tie?

The answer comes pretty quickly as he stretches the soft elastic over Kylo’s cock creating an impromptu cock ring. “You’ll last longer.” is all the explanation he gets.

Kylo forgets about the hair tie in an instant when Hux picks up the bottle of lotion at long last. He jumps at the first touch of the cool lotion, soon relaxing against the finger stroking his rim, opening his body to the familiar intrusion. It’s both strange and amazing having someone else’s fingers inside him, stretching and massaging him loose while deliberately avoiding his prostate, he understands why, but that makes it no less frustrating. He can’t wait to be stretched around Hux’s cock for the first time. 

The fingers retreat and Kylo holds his breath in anticipation watching Hux unbuckle his belt and drop his pants. Soon the blunt head of a cock is looking to replace those fingers. He’d almost expected it to hurt, but Hux has stretched him well enough that the slide is easy with a little adjustment. It feels amazing. 

Clutching at Hux’s shoulders Kylo pulls him into a kiss. The position is awkward, the desk hard and unforgiving against Kylo’s back. Wrapping his legs around Hux’s thin waist provides a little leverage that he uses to push himself as far onto Hux that he can. He could definitely get used to this, the feeling of being filled, intoxicating. 

Hux fucks much like Kylo imagined he would, precise and well paced, his even thrusts borderline robotic. He makes up for it with his hands and mouth, whispering in Gaelic and finding every little spot that lights up with tingles. He feels like he's melting under those hands, muscles twitching in response to every caress, trying his best to meet every thrust.

He’s too far gone to care about how loud he’s being, tears burning in the corners of his eyes. His entire body feels raw, dancing on the edge of being too much. 

“Tá tú chomh álainn mar seo.” It’s the last push Kylo needs, sending him tumbling over the edge, coming so hard his vision whites out. 

When he returns to the present his legs feel like jello, slipping off Hux’s hips to hang limply off the edge of the desk. He keeps twitching around the cock still in his ass, throbbing with the aftershocks of a mind blowing orgasm. 

“Come inside me.” He mumbles when Hux starts to pull out. He pauses and looks to Kylo for confirmation, he’s too tired to bother speaking so he just nods in encouragement. It’s all Hux needs. 

Barely a minute later Hux is coming and Kylo’s cock gives a weak twitch at the feeling. God, he hopes they get to do this again, and soon. Hopefully in a proper bed. He can’t believe he’s been missing out on this his whole life. 

They clean up as best as they can with Hux’s silk pocket square, chucking it in the bin with the half smoked cigar to help cover the smell of spunk. The desk is a bit of a lost cause, but they try anyway, picking everything up off the floor. He feels a little bad when he sees the picture the knocked over is of him and Han sitting on the hood of Han’s 1963 Ford Falcon. One of the few times he can remember getting along with his father. Leia probably keeps it there to remind everyone of what a great mother she is. He almost dumps it in the trash before rethinking and leaving it on the desk. Let her imagine, maybe she’s reminded of how she failed her family everytime she sees it.

The party is in full swing when they return, music loud and conversation louder. Kylo has barely set foot on the grass before Rey descends on him like a bird of prey leaving Hux to be accosted by his approaching parents. “You owe me a dance.” She chirps, dragging him towards the designated dance floor by the pool on the only paved section of the garden. 

“What the fuck, Rey?” She can’t possibly be drunk enough to think forcing him to dance is a good idea. 

“You just had sex at my wedding.” She shoots back. Fair enough, he thinks. He’s awful enough at dancing that he could pass it off as being drunk if anyone calls him out on it. Not that the other guests belong on a stage either, but dancing with one of the brides is bound to draw some attention. Like the withering glare he gets from Phasma who’s chatting with Finn and Poe on the sidelines, daring him to upset her wife in any way.

In the end, dancing with Rey turns out to be more embarrassing than asking Hux to fuck him was, especially when he feels a drop of come escaping his well fucked ass. He tries not to grimace at the feeling. He suspects it’s a wasted effort. 

Hux couldn’t rescue him soon enough, by the time he does Kylo is already contemplating escape by deliberately falling into the pool. It’s first when the DJ switches to something slower that his boyfriend cuts in, waltzing him away from the laughing bride basking in Kylo’s misery. 

It should come as no surprise that Hux can dance, he’s starting to wonder if there’s anything the man can’t do. Like with everything, Hux is patient with him, guiding him through the steps of a dance he hasn’t done in years. 

“Your parents just gave me the shovel talk,” he mentions casually, twirling Kylo like he isn’t a fucking Sasquatch. “They think I’m a gold digger.” Hux sounds amused at the suggestion, if anything Kylo would be the one digging, it’s almost like Leia hasn’t ever set foot in his shitty studio apartment with the former drug den next door. 

“You just want me for my body.” He jokes back. 

Hux chortles, smiling warmly as they wobble past Poe and Finn. “You do have my avian self tattooed on it.” Kylo doesn’t bother resisting the urge to kiss that smile.

How the fuck did he get this lucky?

**Author's Note:**

> All the Gaelic in this I got off the internett so aplogies if anything is wrong.
> 
> “Droch áird chúgat lá gaoithe" = That you may be badly positioned on a windy day.  
> “Do dtí mé go mbeadh a fhios.” = That's for me to know.  
> “Is maith leat é seo?” = You like this?  
> “Buachaill fola.” = Filthy boy.  
> “Fada agus tiubh.” = Long and thick.  
> “Ní féidir liom a chreidiúint go dtéann sé seo ort,” = I can't belive this turns you on.  
> “Cuireann sé caorach orm.” = It remind me of sheep.  
> “Cad atá againn anseo? Mar sin, fonnmhar.” = What have we here? So eager,  
> “Inis dom cad ba mhaith leat.” = What do you want.  
> “Tá tú chomh álainn mar seo.” = You're so beautiful like this,
> 
> Babyhux over on tumblr made this awesome moodboard that I love very much!  
> http://babyhux.tumblr.com/post/176830010453/glow-up-by-bostarsky-when-his-cousin-decides-to


End file.
